


Phantom Limbs

by morganfir



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganfir/pseuds/morganfir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin encounters a curious provincial maid with the uncanny ability to resist magic. After saving her from the Queen of Hearts, the imp whisks her back to his castle to study. Unsettled by his new housekeeper, Rumplestiltskin must learn to trust his damaged heart rather than his dark magic. COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Provincial Maid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"For the patients, long after the amputation is made, say that they still feel pain in the amputated part."_ Ambroise Paré, 1551

The marching soldiers faltered when a powerful gust blew against the ramparts. As the banners cracked in the breeze, Rumplestiltskin stood still as stone, glancing over the rock wall into to courtyard, unbothered by the cold weather. A prison wagon wheeled into the courtyard, crunching through ice and snow. The coachman, a ghastly looking brut with boils and pox marks, jumped down from the front of the carriage as a troop of soldiers exited from the prison gates. Rumplestiltskin watched with indifference as plump, short man was forcefully pulled from the back of the wagon.

“Where are you taking us?” The man yelled, his voice full terror.

Rumplestiltskin's pupils narrowed into pinpoints as he watched the scene unfold with kindled interest.

“Papa!” A girl cried as she was dragged, feet first, from the prison wagon.

“Belle!” The man hollered, jerking against the soldiers’ grip.

Rumplestiltskin tilted his head aside, mildly curious as he observed father and daughter shamelessly resist the royal guards. Others would have accepted their fate as soon as they were thrown into the prison cart. He blinked when he caught sight of a matted mop of chestnut curls and a cornflower blue petticoat.

A soldier wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her towards the castle while her father was hurled towards the prison gates. 

“Papa?” The girl cried, confused, as her eyes darting around the courtyard.

“Belle!” He hollered before he glanced up at the soldier towering over him. “Where are you taking her? Where? Tell me!”

“Papa!” The girl struggled, the rattle of her iron shackles nearly drowning out her cries.

“I did it!” The father shrieked with desperation. “I confess! She had nothing to do with it! Let her go! I confess!”

When he realized his pleads fell on deaf ears, he began throwing his weight and elbowing the soldiers. He might be a short man, but he was heavy enough to cause them to totter over the heels of their shined boots. The soldiers fell, their backsides slamming into the snow with an alarmed grunt. The father darted across the courtyard, leaping through the banks of snow with his shackled hands stretched out to save her. The girl wrestled against her captor’s grip, raising her arm and reached for her father’s hands.

Rumplestiltskin’s fingers twitched, recalling the sensation of a small boy’s hand sliding from his. He gulped the bile from his mouth, squashing the memory from his harrowing mind as quickly as it appeared.

Their fingertips were just about to touch when he heard it, the crack of a wooden bow and the whorl of an arrow spinning in the air. 

Suddenly, the noisy courtyard was filled with silence.

The father fell, head first, into bank of snow with an arrow skillfully buried into his portly back.

Her scream filled the courtyard, echoing up the lofty walls of the castle, and even reaching the furthest parts of the ramparts. Breaking from their daze, the soldiers dragged the hysterical girl away from her father’s corpse. They left him there, bleeding out into the pristine snow, as they whisked her inside of the castle. 

Rumplestiltskin turned on the heel, ignoring the flock of crows that swooped down from the tower’s spire to fest upon the corpse. Fathers died everyday, it mattered not to him.

Entering the castle, he descended a secret flight of stairs before coming to a narrow doorway. He opened it, pulling back a heavy tapestry before crossing the threshold. His eyes fixed on the woman leaning over the fireplace, stirring a simmering cauldron with intense concentration. She was smartly dress, draped in a robe battante cut from multiple yards of creamy crimson damask and elegantly trimmed in slick mink fur at the collar and cuffs.

“Done playing mother?” Rumplestiltskin asked with humor as he sauntered into the room, his boots clicking on the parquet floor. 

The woman rolled her eyes, placing her manicured hand on her padded hip. “If one more governess leaves, I swear I will butcher her mount and turn it into a nice stew for her to eat.”

“Dearest Cora,” he crooned, slightly amused by her vexation. “If you kept our deal she wouldn’t be your problem.”

Cora looked over her shoulder and gave him a chiding look. “You do know how to keep a grudge.”

He shrugged before he plopped in a nearby chair and lifting his boots to rest on the ottoman. Regina was a bright child, but she was too needful for her mother’s approval. If Cora consistently refused it, Regina might prove herself useful in the end. If only Cora knew that she would be the cause of her own downfall. Not yet, he reminded himself. There was much work to be done. 

“I see you’ve captured a new plaything,” Rumplestiltskin remarked as he reached towards the service and helped himself to a half-empty cup of cold tea. As he lifted the cup from the saucer, he spotted Cora’s signature rouge smudged on the rim of the fine porcelain.

“I thought you and I could play together,” Cora asked, her voice overly saccharine.

“What is it that you want?” Rumplestiltskin asked, immediately suspicious.

Cora pulled the spoon from the cauldron and rapping it on the rim. “Who says I want anything?”

Rumplestiltskin simply hummed before he took a sip, savoring the bitter black tea when he heard the stomp of the boots marching down the hallway. Cora pulled her back straight, her eyes filling with anticipation like a child yearning for a shiny new toy. The doors flew open and the soldiers appeared, in hand with the girl from the courtyard. 

Belle, the father called. Her name was Belle.

All the fight in her was gone. The soldiers dragged her by her arms, her legs trailing behind her as her head rocked on her shoulders. He could not see her face, not with the tangled mess of hair in the way. 

As he observed, he threw a cube of sugar into the cup and began to stir the tea with a silver spoon.

“Up!” Cora commanded. 

The soldiers yanked the girl to feet. Belle stood, wobbling back and forth as her eyes remained downcast. He could see her pretty little face now and thought it was unfortunate. If she had been ugly, she might have had a slight chance at surviving Cora’s cruelty. Rumplestiltskin knew she’d suffer no creature fairer than she, and Belle certainly rivaled her in beauty, at least under all that mud and muck. 

With the tip of her spoon, she shoved Belle’s chin up. Her smart blue eyes finally lifted from the floor.

“You killed my father,” she gritted out between her teeth as hot tears ran down her soiled cheeks.

“As is the punishment for poaching on royal lands," Cora answered.

“We weren’t poaching!” Belle argued.

Rumplestiltskin's eyebrows lifted, the girl was a fiery spirit.

“Does it look like I care if you were poaching?” Cora said, tilting her head to the side with a fiendish smirk on her face.

Belle’s jaw dropped, horrified when she realized that there would be no trial for her deeds, whatever they were or were not. Princess Cora was judge, jury, and executioner. Belle's fate rested entirely in the mad woman's hands.

Cora strutted away, the folds of her robe rustling as she neared Rumplestiltskin. He watched with curiosity as Belle’s eyes finally landed upon his face. He did not know if many knew of their clandestine relationship as teacher and student, perhaps there were whispered tales told over crackling fires about the Princess Cora and her impish lover. Either way, the girl looked like any other mortal who would glance at the Dark One for the first time. With horror and disgust.

Rumplestiltskin lips curled into an amused smirk as he felt Cora round the chair, dragging her hand over his shoulder in passing.

“What shall we do with her?” Cora inquired.

He rapped the spoon on the rim of the cup, recognizing the delicious excitement in her purring voice. The porcelain annoyingly chimed in response. 

“I do need a new governess,” Cora considered aloud. 

Rumplestiltskin frowned. “A provincial maid for Regina?” 

Cora thoughtful paused before she let out a deep chuckle. “You’re right, that would not suit the future Queen.” 

As Cora teased her pray, Rumplestiltskin took a sip of his tea. Tearing the cup from his lips, he scowled into the teacup when he realized that he hated sugar in black tea. When he looked up, Cora had walked over to the diamond-pained window. It had iced over in the weather, but with one strong push, she was able to force it open again. A chill breeze tore through the room, causing the tapestries to swoosh against the floor and the pages of her grimore to flip. 

“I always wondered what would happen if someone should fall from this window,” Cora mused, tilting her head aside as she peered down from the tower window.

Rumplestiltskin looked back to the doorway when she heard the jingle of chains. Belle was pushing back against her heels, trying to make herself as small as possible. She was a small, petite thing. The soldiers wasted no strength to get force her up on her feet.

“They would go splat, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin said, abandoning the teacup on the tray.

“Alright,” Cora said in a huff. “I wondered what it would  _look_   _like_.”

Tilting his head back against the back of the chair and adjusting his backside into the seat, he settled in to watch Cora entertain herself with the poor peasant girl.

Without another teasing word, Cora crossed the room with her hand reached out and fingers bent into claws. Belle looked like a poor fox caught in a trap, willing to gnaw its own foot off to flee. She jerked and fought, her feet noisily slipping against the waxed floor. The soldiers buckled down, tightening their grasp to keep her upright and positioned for Cora's murderous hand.

Then, nothing.

Cora faltered, trying again, but her nails could not even sink through Belle’s pierrot bodice. Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes, annoyed that she could fail at magic she’d already mastered.

“Focus,” Rumplestiltskin ordered.

“I am,” Cora hissed between her teeth. 

Well, that was odd.

Rumplestiltskin lifting his feet from the ottoman as he motioned to rise. Crossing the room, his eyes focused on the strange girl. With a rough hand, he pushed Cora away, determined to understand what was preventing her skilled magic from taking the maid’s heart. He pushed his sprayed hands against her breastbone and felt nothing but reed, linen, and laces. He felt the magic resist her like a locked door he could not open.

His lips parted as his eyes went wide. “What are you?”

Belle pulled her head back, nosily gulping as Rumplestiltskin examined every detail of her face. 

“I’m Belle,” she whispered, meekly.

Rumplestiltskin knitted his eyebrows when Cora pushed him aside. “Move. Let me try again.”

“Try as much as you wish.” Rumplestiltskin took a step back, but never tore his eyes from Belle’s face. “But you will not succeed.”

Cora turned around, her skirts whipping against his legs. “Why not?” She hotly demanded.

Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips side to side as he twiddled his fingers. “I have yet to determine the cause.”

Cora’s mouth went slack before she turned around to glare at Belle. “How?”

Belle was watching them both with startled eyes. It became very clear that she had no idea about the sorcery done in Princess Cora’s tower. He was almost certain that the little lamb of a mortal had no idea who he really was. A sheltered thing was she.

Rumplestiltskin turned around, walking towards her worktable with his hands clasped tightly behind her back. “Perhaps I could take her back to the Dark Castle. Study her.”

When he turned around, Cora was standing over her cauldron. “And what do I get in return?”

“You get nothing. This is a command, not a request,” Rumplestiltskin said, pulling one of his hands from behind his back to point his claw at her. 

Cora bent down and dipped her spoon in the cauldron. “She was captured by my soldiers. She belongs to me.”

The witch was becoming too confident. It would grow into a problem if he didn’t snip it at the roots.

With a grunt, Rumplestiltskin jerked his hand in the air, revealing a book in his grasp. Glamoury. It would take months for her to learn, but she’d stay busy and out of his hair while he studied this strange creature of a girl.

Cora looked up, pleased at his offer. “Take her,” she said with a shrug, but he could hear the venom in her voice. “Do what you wish with her.” 

Turning back, he expected to see Belle fighting against her restraints, but instead, she had fainted. He frowned when he saw the puddle growing from beyond her skirts and the rank smell of ammonia in the air. 

Cora snickered as she stirred the cauldron. “Have fun." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, this story is a bit darker than [The Cloistered Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7167941/chapters/16271663), which I'm only taking a brief break from. 
> 
> This story is heavily influenced by domestic ideology from the 18th and early 19th centuries. When I wrote this, I had a very strong 18th century setting in my head. It's only a short story, so I won't be able to really dive into social or cultural ideals from that period. There will be some slight details regarding 18th century fashion because I'm a complete fangirl for historical costumes. I'll post some examples of the types of garments I mention on my tumblr.
> 
> Find me at: <http://morganfir.tumblr.com/>
> 
> It's unbeta'd so...yeah...mistakes happen. :D


	2. A Shiny New Toy

 

As soon as Belle became conscious, Rumplestiltskin realized how difficult it was to imprison a woman without magic. After all, he couldn’t make a woman stay when he was mortal, why did he assume he would be able to entrap a pretty maid as the Dark One? So, he did what any sensible master would do, he locked the maid in his dungeon. Magic or not, the little peasant couldn’t slip through metal bars.

Casting a barrage of spells over a few strands of hair, an annoying wail echoed up into his workroom. He cursed as the hairs dropped into the open flame, sizzling before turning into ash. Rumplestiltskin had enough of her endless tirade of sobs, it seemed as if she had a permanent water fixture attached to her button nose.

Marching down to the dungeon, he swung open the heavy door. Rumplestiltskin expected to find her curled up in the corner covered in filth, crying about her dear papa!

“What is this racket?”

He was answered with a flash of pewter obscuring his vision. He suddenly found himself flat on his back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling of his dungeon, with his nose cracked to one side. Groaning, he pushed himself off the floor when heard the girl's shoes scuffing the floor as she scattered down the hallway towards her escape.

Listening to her feet shuffle on the staircase, Rumplestiltskin reached up and snapped his broken nose back in position.

“Great merciful boils…” he groused, not remembering a time when someone had ever caused him physical harm.

With a wave of his hand, Rumplestiltskin healed his nose, but the pain remained. Grumbling curses under his breath, he conjured himself at the top of the stairs. In a few moments, the maid was crashing into him. She was too busy looking over her shoulder, expecting him to be chasing her up the stairs to realize he’d been waiting for her at the top. Grabbing her tightly by the arm, he hurled her into the Great Hall, ignoring her pleads and rebukes.

“Get off!” Belle wiggled like a slippery fish in his grasp.

Pressing his lips together, he managed to shove her into the nearest chair. “Stay,” he ordered, pointing at her with his clawed finger. “I’ve had enough of your noise.”

“I’ve had enough of being your prisoner!” Belle shouted, full of rage. She motioned to rise, but he shoved her back into the seat. He might not have magic, but he was a man with considerable strength and she was a tiny, fragile thing.

“I offered you a choice. Stay as my guest, or remain as my prisoner. It’s not my fault you were halfwit and chose the latter,” Rumplestiltskin snapped back.

She jerked her chin towards his cabinet of curiosities. “You truly expect me to sit like one of your trinkets upon your shelf?” Belle laughed, full of bitterness and spite as her eyes brimmed with tears. “You bought me from the woman who murdered my father. Why? Because we were just hungry!”

“Ah!” Rumplestiltskin wiggled his finger at her when he caught her spilling truths from her pretty lips. “So you _were_ poaching.”

Belle growled in frustration. “Half the kingdom is starving. How are we supposed to feed ourselves if our crops are plagued with blight and hunting sentences you to the gallows?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged, it mattered not if she was victim to the famine sweeping the kingdoms. She still ended up in Cora’s tower, and the only reason she was alive was because of his intervention.

“I saved your life,” he told her, if that revelation hadn't seeped into her pretty mind yet. “You should be a little more thankful.”

“Thankful?” Belle gasped, shocked at his words. “You’re keeping me against my will.”

“I’m keeping you alive,” Rumplestiltskin corrected, growing annoyed by her idiocy. The girl was young, but not that young! “Don’t assume for one moment that Cora still won’t push you out a window to spite your beauty.”

The color drained from Belle’s cheeks. Rumplestiltskin stood back on his heels, smug as his words greased the rusty gears of her mind. From the dark circles framing her eyes and the way her clothes were hanging loosely from her petite frame, she probably hadn’t eaten anything substantial since the spring, let alone ignoring the meals he provided her. Filling her days with tiring sobbing, her exhausted mind probably couldn’t see reason.

“You won’t ever need to poach anymore,” he said, trying to sound aloof, but even he winced when he heard the yearning in his voice. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind another soul to wonder the Dark Castle. It was rather empty and he had enough food in the larder to share. “If you remain here,” he magnanimously added.

Belle looked up, blinking away her tears. She opened her mouth, but then snapped it close.

Rumplestiltskin noticed that her hands were calloused and blistered, similar to a woman who knew a life of hard, honest labor. Eying her homespun dress and worn, mended shoes, the girl was probably from a simple farming family. It was the reason why he’d first offered her a life of luxury, hoping that was enough to keep her to stay, but she maddeningly continued to refuse him. He hadn't met one peasant girl in his entire existence that didn't yearn for a life of pheasant feasts and wardrobes of silks, but his prisoner had. 

“I told you, ask me anything and I shall grant it.” He reminded her, hoping that he could finally get her out of that ridiculous dress that made her look like a common serf.

“Can you…” her lip quivered as tears fell from her swollen eyes. “Can you bring back my papa?”

Rumplestiltskin’s hands dropped to his sides, his stomach clenching when he heard her utter his name. The word conjured an image of a small boy with bright brown eyes. He’d called the man he used to be papa too. 

“No,” he said, curt and final. “Even the Dark One does not have power over the Grim Reaper.”

Belle dropped her head in her hands, her chest heaving as she fell into wailing sobs. It had been several years since he was around grief and it proved to be just as intolerable as he remembered it. Rumplestiltskin straightened his back, glancing around the room with an uncomfortable grimace. Baring his teeth, he finally reached out his hand and patted her awkwardly on the back. The moment lasted long than he could suffer, rolling his eyes as the girl continued to cry.

“Continue and you’ll flood my castle,” he said, irked by the stream of never-ending tears.

Belle lifted her head, her face splotchy and swollen, and gulped as she dried her tears with her stained sleeves.

“I need…” she began before drawing a breath into her mouth. “I need to bury him. Please.”

Rumplestiltskin withdrew his hand, staring down at her with a pensive stare. Unsettled by her anguished state, he began to consider how difficult it could be to retrieve his remains from Cora. Did it matter? He couldn't tolerate another moon of endless sobbing.

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin said with a firm nod. “I’ll bury him here."

Belle sniffled, holding her hand against her nose. “Really?” She croaked, her eyes hopeful.

She wasn’t expecting him to agree to it, did she? Well, he wasn’t entirely heartless, and a headstone would provide the gloomy ambience to the Dark Castle that he was aiming for. He looked away, the devotion to her father’s memory making him uneasy. Belle loved him, as much as Rumplestiltskin wished to love his cowardly father. He quickly realized no magic could ever darn the hole his death left in her heart.

“Yes,” he agreed.

When Rumplestiltskin glanced down, her face was softening as she stared up at him. He took a step back, wondering if perhaps she had something caught in her eye, for she couldn’t be staring at him thus.

“If you cease this ridiculous racket.” He added hastily, not wishing to seem kind.

Belle sniffled again as she dried her tears with her sleeve. He was pleased that the girl had some sense to her, but more satisfied that silence was finally restored to his castle. He had grown headaches with her endless sniveling and couldn't work.

Instead of returning her to the dungeons, he escorted upstairs to her new bedchambers. Years ago, he had furnished a fine room for Cora, befitting of any queen. When she refused him, he had left the room untouched, a living reminder to not be made a fool again. Remaining sealed for many years, the room was covered in dust and the air was stale and pungent. However, it still brightly glimmered with his hopes and dreams like the day he furnished it.

“This would be my room?” Belle said, spinning around the room with a look of wonder in her eyes.

The maid probably hadn’t seen anything this fine in her whole life. If she remained, he’d make sure she wanted for nothing. He wasn’t a compassionate master, but he wasn’t a neglectful one. Her needs would always be met. Her wants, on the other hand, would not bother him.

“Unless you prefer the dungeons?” He inquired.

“No!” Belle quickly exclaimed. “No,” she repeated, at a quieter tone. “This is adequate.”

With all the luxurious silks and pillows he filled the room with, he was rather despondent she found it _just_ adequate.

“What shall I do?” Belle asked, frowning as she glanced around the room.

He had no idea what young peasant girls entertained themselves with, nor did he care. The girl was small, but able-bodied and accustomed to work. Surely, she could make herself useful if she was going to impose on his hospitality.

“Dust.”

“Dust,” Belle repeated, unsure if she understood his meaning.

“Yes, dust.” Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes, irritated. “Clean. Cook. Do the washings. Surely you know how to do these things?”

Speechless, Belle simply nodded. With a huff, Rumplestiltskin turned on his heel to return back to his workroom. Then he recalled how he’d wasted the few hairs she shed in his carriage and required more. Twirling around, he returned to the doorway, raising his finger in the air.

“Oh, and I require a few of your hairs,” he added.

____________________________________________

 

In the weeks that followed, Belle became an obedient servant to his astonishment. She washed the linens, dusted his trinkets, polished the floors, cooked him meals, and even fetched straw for his wheel. He’d enter a dusty room one day, and it would be spotless the next. Her mother, whoever she was, had prepared her well for the duties of marriage. Too bad her skills were wasted on the monstrous likes of him.

Belle was holding her side of the bargain, now it was up to him to follow through with his.

Swallowing his pride, he returned to Cora’s tower to ask for her father’s remains. He found out, through much of his frustration, that his corpse couldn’t be summoned by his magic. Whatever magical resistance ailed her, it was genetic and was likely passed down by her father. While it was a curious revelation, it made fulfilling his deal quite challenging.

When he arrived, Cora was sitting at her fireplace, turning the pages of her grimore. One of her hound dogs reclined at her feet, merrily chomping on a juicy bone with his back teeth.

“For a moment, I thought you’d forgotten all about me,” Cora said, her eyes remaining on her book. “Been having fun with you little plaything?”

Rumplestiltskin joined her at the fire, noting that she was dressed in a sack-backed gown made from purple and black iridescent taffeta and trimmed with obsidian buttons. The square neckline was cut scandalously low that he could almost see the tips of her rosy nipples. Had Cora been waiting for him? Or was this a vision intended to be seen by her lovers, or worse, her husband.

“Time of my life,” Rumplestiltskin replied with forced gaiety. “The girl is utterly devoted to me and heeds my every command, and oh,” he placed his hand on his belly, “she bakes a wonderful pie. She probably the best deal I’ve ever made.”

Cora lifted her stone cold eyes from her book and slammed the book closed. Rumplestiltskin watched with glee as she visibly swallowed whatever hatred had boiled inside of her before dared to raise her eyes to look at him.

“Why Cora, are you jealous?” Rumplestiltskin inquire, practically elated. He leaned in, mockingly. “That would require you to have a heart.”

“Do what you wish to her,” Cora sneered, trying to act indifferent but all she looked like to Rumplestiltskin was a scorned lover. “Eat her pies. Fuck her. I don’t care.”

Rumplestiltskin leaned back, tapping his fingers together as he reveled in her maddening jealousy. If he thought Cora could be so easily envious, he would have picked up a pretty dairymaid and paraded her around the countryside years ago.

“Why are you here?” Cora questioned, turning her attention back to her grimore. She turned the pages too quickly to be reading.

“I’m here for the girl’s father,” he replied.

Cora chuckled. “You _do_ care for her.”

He pursed his lips, irked at her words, and fiddled his fingers at his side. “I made a deal,” he sternly corrected.

Pressing her lips together, she stood up from the chair and knelt over to yank the bone from her hound’s mouth. Turning around, Cora held it out to him with a raised eyebrow. The bone was riddled with teeth marks and covered in slobber. Upon closer inspection, Rumplestiltskin realized it was a humerus bone. A piece of her father.

“That’s all that’s left of him,” Cora said with an apathetic shrug.

He motioned to leave. “Have a messenger send it,” he ordered, not in the mood to travel the long journey back to the Dark Castle with a single bone.

Cora rose from her chair, reaching out to slide her hand under his tall collar. “Won’t you stay? I can bring a toy up from dungeons to amuse us with.” She offered sweetly, pouting her bottom lip like a child pleading for sugary treat. “It’d be like old times again.”

It was only weeks ago when her offer would excite him, but now he found her company tedious. He wasn’t sure how that transpired, but he knew he was desperate to hurry back to the Dark Castle. Belle could not remain unattended for long and if Cora assumed he was eager to return like a lovesick fool, so be it.

He answered her by disappearing a cloud of smoke.

____________________________________________

 

Days later, the messenger arrived to the Dark Castle. There was a note reeking of Cora’s signature scent, opium and musk. Rumplestiltskin threw it into the fire without even opening it, apathetic to her sudden affections. She was like a spoiled child, irked that he'd found someone else to play with after ignoring him to fiddle with her shiny toys.

She had sent the bone as well, wrapped in a soiled canvas. It appeared even more chewed on than the last time he’d seen it, but it didn’t matter. He found a wooden box, lined in white silk, and as respectfully as he could, placed the bone inside it before sealing it closed with wax. She did not need to see what had transpired to her father's remains. 

Searching the castle, he found Belle in the kitchen, kneading a loaf of dough with both of her hands. Gone was the tattered dress from the dungeons. Instead, she wore a closed-bodied gown made from golden-yellow linen. A crisp white handkerchief was crossed around her neck and tucked into the neckline of her bodice. He mourned the sight of her beautiful curls, hidden by a pleated mop cap. 

When he conjured a wardrobe for her, the cloth turned into dust upon her touch. He was forced to commission a manteau-maker to craft a closet for his maid. They argued like cats and dogs over the samples of fabrics and fashion plates. Belle wanted practical styles made from wools and linens while he preferred silks and Watteau pleats. She won the debate...somehow.

For a few moments, he watched her work. She threw her weight into the bread, pushing with the heels of her hands as she stretched the dough across the table. She raised her forearm, brushing the flour from the tip of her nose before returning to the task. Belle might have been a servant, but she showered her tasks with more unwavering dedication and honest labor than he could ever bestow upon his magical studies.

Rumplestiltskin made a noise in the doorway, causing her to pause her movements and look up from the sticky dough in her hands.

“You’re back,” she said, reaching for an apron to wipe her hands clean. “I think we have a rat.”

“A rat?” Rumplestiltskin questioned. Rodents never appeared in the Dark Castle before her arrival, why now?

“Yes,” Belle said, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I found a few things missing from the larder this morning.”

Her eyes fell to the box he held under his arm and the pest problem became a second thought.

“What’s that?”

Without a word, Rumplestiltskin offered her the sealed box with solicitude. Belle’s shoulders dropped when she realized what, or whom, the box carried. With a gasp, the apron fell from her trembling hands and her lips parted in a silent cry. As he neared her, she raised her arms to take her father’s remains.

“Papa,” she whimpered as Rumplestiltskin relinquished the box into her care.

As evil as he was, he would not do as Cora’s soldiers did and separate the girl until she said her final farewell.

“When you’re ready, we’ll lay him to rest in the garden,” he gently whispered.

With a nod, Rumplestiltskin turned to retreat to the solitude of his tower. He’d not pester her for more of her strands of hair or cuts of her nails to subject to his probing magic until she was out of mourning.

“Thank you.”

Rumplestiltskin faulted, turning around to see Belle staring at him with swollen eyes.

“Thank you,” she said again.

It had been a very long time since someone thanked him rather than cursed him.

“You’re…welcome,” he said, drumming his fingers against his thigh. The words sounded like a foreign language on his tongue, but as soon as he said them, how much simple words could do.

Belle placed her cheek against the lid, hugging her father’s remains close to her chest, knowing that it’d be the last time they were together in this life.

Late as it was, Belle was finally was able to take her father’s hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thanks for all the comment and kudos in the first chapter! I'm totally blown away! You guys rock. 
> 
> Find me at: <http://morganfir.tumblr.com/>


	3. A Fireside Lesson

Rumplestiltskin hadn’t lied to Cora when he had told her about the wonderful pies Belle baked. She mastered his kitchens nicely, turning out perfect breads, savory sauces, and succulent roasted meats over the great hearth. When she collected the linens for laundry, she’d bake a meat pie large enough to last a day or so until the washings were done, and Rumplestiltskin was sure he began to solely exist for that pie. It didn't matter, beef, pork, chicken, they were all heavenly dishes too delicious not to devour in a sitting. 

Rushing down from his workroom, he entered Belle’s kitchen with the aim to have the rest of his potpie. Belle was startled when he entered in a rush, but kept her focus on scrubbing the ink stains out of the cuffs of his tunic. Stepping into the larder, he searched out the familiar stoneware pot and lifted the lid. He froze, his anger boiling like a tea kettle over a fire. The meat had been scraped out, leaving only the soggy crust behind. What criminal had eaten the filling and forgotten about her magnificent crust? A disgrace! An atrocity! 

“What is this?” Rumplestiltskin fumed as he came out of the larder. 

“What’s what?” Belle asked, sitting down to kneel over a simmering copper tub as she scrubbed.

“This!” Rumplestiltskin yelled as he lifted the pot to drop it back down on the table with a booming thud. “What happened to my pie?”

Belle eyed the sparse serving before she shrugged, unbothered by his outcry. “You shouldn’t have eaten it so quickly.”

“Me?” Rumplestiltskin asked, outraged and doubting if he’d heard her correctly. He glanced around the room, wondering if this was some poorly hatched prank. “I only had a few slices, wench!”

“Right,” Belle scoffed as she picked up a soft brush and began furiously scouring the stain out of his favorite tunic. “I’ve seen how you sneak down here when you think I’m not looking and eat _more_ than a slice.”

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes went wide as his jaw dropped. This girl had a death wish, eating his pie and then blaming him for it!

“Bake another one!” He demanded, furious and hungry.

Belle heavily sighed, sitting back on her heels as she dropped her redden, wet hands on her lap. Looking over her shoulder, she gave him a disapproving look.

“I cook every meal, fetch you straw, light all the fires, wash all of your linens, dust your trinkets, scrub each nook and cranny of this castle, and even empty your chamberpot. I do this alone, when a castle like this would have been run by an army of servants.”

When she finished with her end of her tirade, Rumplestiltskin realized that he’d never seen her resting. She was always carrying a bucket of water, or covered head to toe in dust, or wrestling the spit over her kitchen fire. He didn’t consider how his tunics were always perfectly pressed and neatly folded in his armoire, nor about the creamy churned butter he spread on fresh slices of rye every morning. He’d grown to dependent on magic and forgotten how much an effort everyday life was.

“You will find something else in the larder and wait until tomorrow for supper,” Belle told him, dismissing him with a turn of her head.

Stupified, Rumplestiltskin stood in Belle’s kitchen like a clueless oaf. He opened his mouth, ready to throw the wench back into the dungeons for her insolence. But if he did, then he wondered who would cook him meat pies?

With a grunt, Rumplestiltskin grabbed a roll from the larder and marched off to his tower to sulk.

____________________________________________

 

Days later, Rumplestiltskin grew confident that his maid would not deny his request for more samples for his study. He’d caught Belle humming around the castle, a little merry jig he’d never heard before, and caught a smile or two. Now that she was in better spirits, it was time to return researching her strange anomaly. He must know why he could not touch her with his powerful magic! 

Rushing into the Great Hall, holding a clean lancet and an empty vial in his hands, he found Belle sitting at the table with a book open before her. He frowned, he assumed the girl was trying to impress him, for the book didn't have any pictures. It was until he caught her eyes drift along the page that he realized she was reading. She sat, deep in thought, as the words consumed so much of her focus that she didn’t even notice him enter the room.

“You’re literate?” Rumplestiltskin asked, turning up his nose at the unexpected revelation.

Belle eyes lifted from the page and fixed him with a curious look. “My father taught me how to read,” she said, as if it was a common thing.

Rumplestiltskin knitted his eyebrows but dared not to speak ill of her father, but what peasant knew how to read? And taught their daughter? 

“He was an inventor,” Belle added, growing mournful at the memory.

“An inventor,” Rumplestiltskin repeated, skeptical. He did not know many serfs that made their living building contraptions. “An inventor of what?”

“Threshing machines, oil lamps, kitchen gadgets, almost everything and anything really. He was working on a building an automatic wood splitter before…” Her voice faltered when she remembered the reason why he never would complete it.

“What would power it?” Rumplestiltskin inquired, trying to take her mind off of the painful memory tormenting her mind. He was starting to prefer his maid cheerful, rather than depressed and mournful.

“Steam,” Belle answered with a sad smile. “He almost blew himself up building the engine.”

His efforts were a waste when Belle spotted the lancet and vial in his hands. She leaned back in her seat, growing weary at his presence. “What’s that?”

Rumplestiltskin looked down at the lancet, almost forgetting that it was in his hand. “Oh, I require a pint of your blood.”

In a flash, Belle bolted from her seat. “Absolutely not,” she said as she backed away, putting more distance between them. Any more steps, she’d back into the wall. That was fine, she wouldn’t be able to run and he can claim what was rightfully his by their deal. “I’ve given you my hair, my nails, even my spit, but you’re sorely mistaken if you think you’re going to poke me with that thing!”

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes, exasperated by her overdramatic reaction. “It’s only a few drops of blood,” he shrugged, failing to see why she resisted him so. “Haven’t you ever been bled before?”

“My father didn’t believe in bloodletting,” Belle countered.

“Well, that’s an odd opinion,” Rumplestiltskin admitted. He proceeded to cross the room, intent on draw the blood he needed with or without her consent. “Just remain still, this won’t hurt.”

“YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER!”

Rumplestiltskin turned around and saw a young boy, no older than fourteen, barreling towards him from underneath the table. Rumplestiltskin held out his hand, summoning the carpets bunch under his feet. The boy tripped, falling to the floor with a thump. Rumplestiltskin knitted his eyes together in confusion as the boy rolled onto his back, too busy to nurse his bruised side than to be frightened of the Dark One looming over him. 

“What do we have here?” Rumplestiltskin crooned, forgetting all about his previous task and summoned his tools back to his tower.

Leaning over the boy, Rumplestiltskin recognized the angry red welts peppering his face as a symptom of scurvy. From the way his clothes were hanging off his thin frame, the runt probably hadn’t eaten a proper meal in months. Suddenly, things began to add up.

“Ah, so you’re the rat,” Rumplestiltskin cruelly cooed as he pointed his finger at him.

Belle rushed forward, pushing herself between him and the boy. “Leave him alone.”

Rumplestiltskin turned around, surprised at his maid's sudden defense of this mysterious boy-thief. Belle jutted out her chin, preparing for his scolding with a defiant gesture.

“You know about him!” Rumplestiltskin pointed his finger accusingly at her. His eyes began to dart, back and forth between his maid and the rat until the realization struck him like a bucket of cold water over his head. “ _He’s the one that ate my pie!_ ”

“I found him hiding in the larder. He was nearly on death’s door, I had to help him!” Belle cried, pleading with him to see reason. He couldn’t see reason; all her could see was a pie-stealing little vagrant who wanted to play prince charming to _his_ pretty little maid.

Rumplestiltskin spun around, throwing his arms into the air as he groaned in frustration. Apparently, the Dark Castle was turning into an orphanage for wayward peasants and thieving street rats while the master was none the wiser!

“That is not my problem!” Rumplestiltskin yelled, glancing down at the boy who looked too fatigued to even stand up.

“You’d really throw him out, when he has no home, no family to care for him?”

He dropped his hand to his side like a lead weight. For a moment, when his eyes fell upon the brat at his feet, Rumplestiltskin swore he saw a boy with a mop a brown curls and familiar, kind smile. Unsettled by the haunting, he squeezed his eyes shut and hissed a deep breath through his clenched teeth. He would not think of him! He will not! 

“I promise, he will not bother you!” Belle’s insistent voice broke through his tormented mind. Opening his eyes, Belle was leaning over the boy as if he expected Rumplestiltskin to pull him by the feet and hurl him out into the cold winter. “He can help me with the washings and in the kitchen.” She was desperate, as if by saving the boy, she was erasing whatever guilt she harbored for her father’s death.

Rumplestiltskin watched as she yanked up the sleeve, thrusting out the crook of her pale elbow. “If you let him stay, you can take as much of my blood as you want.”

“That is a horribly worded offer,” he mentioned, finally breaking out of his daze.

Belle rolled her eyes and huffed. “I trust you not to exsanguinate me.”

Then, she pushed out her arm again, hopeful that he wouldn’t deny her plea.

“Please, just let him stay.”

Rumplestiltskin glanced down at the runt, watching him with pity as he attempted to roll on his side and push himself to the ground. Even in his weakened state, he was determined to protect his damsel in distress. He wasn’t sure if the boy-thief was mad or that too many bedtime tales of ancient chivalry had addled his starved brain.

“Will you submit to my studies? No exceptions?” Rumplestiltskin inquired, tired of constantly fighting with her to claim the samples he needed.

Belle’s eyes searched his face as she breathed loudly through her nose. “Yes,” she finally answered.

“Fine, he can stay,” he relented with resentment. Then, he pointed at the boy at his feet and fixed Belle with a forbidding gaze. “He shall not enter my tower or the west wing. And if he breaks anything, it’d be your head, wench!”

Belle remained unwavering in the wake of his cruel threats. “Thank you,” she said, but without emotion.

“Belle, are you okay?” The boy asked, grabbing a handful of her skirts as he motioned to stand.

“I’m fine Jefferson,” she said, cradling the back of his head with an affectionate hand. “No more hiding. This is your home now,” she announced softly, letting him lean against her as his knees wobbled.

Closing his eyes and letting out a noisy huff, Rumplestiltskin wondered when he started to care.

“Get the boy in bed,” Rumplestiltskin ordered, gesturing towards the staircase that led to the bedchambers. “I’ll make a potion to rid him of his scurvy.”

____________________________________________

 

When the boy’s health finally returned to him, Rumplestiltskin had to admit that the boy-thief was an odd one. Unperturbed by his appearance and fascinated by his magic, the boy proved to be an unexpected addition to the Dark Castle. Jefferson became Belle’s loyal companion, chasing after her skirts and obeying her every command. The two were nearly inseparable. If he spotted one, the other was not so far behind. For the first time ever, there was a child's laughter echoing in the Dark Castle.

Jefferson was a good lad, albeit a bit too clingy to the girl, but Belle didn’t seem to mind him as her constant shadow. In fact, Belle’s spirits lifted to new heights when she begun to tutor him in his letters and sums. She was a natural teacher, encouraging him with kind words and sparing the switch when he made mistakes.

Rumplestiltskin entered the Grand Hall under the guise of needing the light of the fire to work, as he would not admit that he enjoyed eavesdropping on their lessons. His maid was strangely educated far above her station, and he had learned interesting histories not to be found in any tome of his. 

Sitting near the fire, Rumplestiltskin began assembling the cuts of silk upon his knee. The girl was too pretty for just linens and wools, she needed something beautiful to compliment her. After all, what she wore said a lot about him, didn't it? He wouldn't have her looking like a frump for every visitor to see. A pair of silk mittens, adorned with simple stitches of white floss would suit her nicely. It had been a while since he sewed something by hand, but he soon found it comforting. Nothing was more rewarding than crafting something from scratch, and he would be as proud like a peacock to see her wear the favors he fashioned for her. 

“How do you know so much?” Jefferson asked in childlike awe, breaking Rumplestiltskin's focus. 

“My father was a scientist,” Belle proudly shared.

“But you said he was an inventor,” Jefferson countered.

“He was,” Belle agreed with a nod. “He was many things. But his favorite thing was learning about the secrets of the worlds.”

Rumplestiltskin’s hand stilled, palming the silk embroidery floss, and vigilantly listened without the noisy distraction of rustling taffeta.

“Worlds?” Jefferson questioned, curious.

“Yes,” Belle said in a wondrous whisper. “He once told me that there are many worlds beside this one. Worlds startling different from ours, and then there's worlds exactly the same, crafted by the choices we don’t make.”

Doubtful, Jefferson shook his head. “You jest.”

“I do not!” Belle said, feigning offense for his incredulity. “I swear, he told me so.” Her lips curled into a smile as she pulled an apple from the cornucopia and began cutting it into slices. “And he should know, he was from a world very different from ours.”

Rumplestiltskin’s hands stilled, forgetting about the yellow taffeta upon his knee.

“What world?” Jefferson eagerly asked, slipping to the edge of his seat, his attention completely devoted to her.

“He told me it was a world full of science. That people lived in tall buildings that stretched up towards the heavens. How big boxes held all the knowledge of the world. That energy travelled through wires to power flameless lamps. And to travel long distances, people rode in flying wagons above the clouds.” She laughed lightly, as if it was only a silly tale. “He told me it was a world without magic.”

Rumplestiltskin bolted from his stool, crossing the distance between them in a flash. Belle leaned back, startled at his sudden nearness.

“A world without magic?” Rumplestiltskin repeated, his voice urgent. It was too specific to be false, so he was certain that Belle was not crafting a fantastical tale to entertain Jefferson’s curious mind. “Your father was from a world without magic?”

Belle appeared suspicious from his unbridled interest. “Yes,” she hesitantly replied.

Rumplestiltskin sunk into the chair beside her, desperate to know all about this other world and how her father came to be in theirs.

“How did he get here?” He interrogated.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just tell me,” Rumplestiltskin snapped.

Dropping the apple, she fished out a tiny ball of twine from her apron pocket. After breaking off a long piece of string with her teeth, she began tying a serious of knots down the length of the twist. She held it up in the air, displaying the long piece of string for Rumplestiltskin's eyes.

“Imagine that the knots are all the worlds and its interconnected, somehow, through the twist. This is our world,” she explained, pointing to the last knot on the string. “And this is the world without magic,” she paused, touching a knot at the other end.

Jefferson craned his neck so he could watch, riveted by Belle’s strange theory.

“It’s quite a long distance between the two worlds, and if you wanted travel from one knot to the other, you’d have to leap over the string. Well, that requires a lot of energy and time, doesn’t it?”

Belle balled up the string in her hand, condensing it into a tiny tangle of twine and knots.

“What if you squished it all together? The knots are all close together, instead of leaping, you can just simply hop,” she carefully explained. “Less energy, less time.”

“But _how_? _How_ did he do it?” Rumplestiltskin demanded, desperate for an answer to his most challenging question. “How did he hop from one world to the other?”

“I don’t know,” Belle admitted, almost ashamed.

“You don’t know?” Rumplestiltskin questioned, growing frustrated at the lack of answers the girl had. “He never told you?”

“He tried. He talked about physics and quantum mechanics and space travel,” Belle listed as she threw up her hands in the air in frustration before dropping them in her lap with a defeated clap. “I might be smart, but my father was _brilliant_.”

Rumplestiltskin leaned back in his chair and began to rap his claws on the table. Just when he found a door to the world without magic, it slammed in his face. What a twist of fate, that this provincial maid was birthed by realm-hopper who had successful done what he couldn’t in close to three hundred years!

“That’s why my magic is useless against you,” Rumplestiltskin mused aloud, astonished that he hadn't figured it out earlier.

“Maybe,” Belle considered with an indifferent shrug before she took a bite of her apple with a crisp crunch. She never cared for his research. “I bet my father would have known why,” she announced with a mouthful of mush apple.

Jefferson yawned, cluing them both that he was far past his bedtime, but Belle only handed him another slice of apple.

“I’m not hungry,” Jefferson refused with a pout.

“Eat,” Belle insisted, holding the apple slice in front of him until he took it. Belle had been his devoted nurse when he was ill, and she was not yet ready to relinquish her role even if he was fully recovered. It was small things, like sharing a slice of her apple with Jefferson, that persuaded him that she’d be an excellent mother one day. It was a strange thought, but Rumplestiltskin didn't squash it as readily as the other stray opinions he had about his maid.

“You two would have gotten along,” Belle said with certainty, breaking him out of his deep reflection. “Hiding in your laboratories, seeking out the answers of the universe.” She laughed then, full of nostalgia for her beloved father. “Yes, you two would have gotten along splendidly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Maurice as a professor at some university, who wrote endlessly about the possibilities of time travel and became the joke of his department. So, he invented a time machine to prove them wrong, but instead finds himself in the Enchanted Forest with no way to get back. He used his 20th century wits to become an inventor, trying to spark an industrial revolution in an agrarian, feudal society. He meets Belle's mother, a spinster who is fascinated by his inventions, they get married and have a happy family on a farm. 
> 
> I always post the fashion and artwork that inspire me for my stories on tumblr: <http://morganfir.tumblr.com/>


	4. A Genuine Model

The chorus of heartbeats filled the room with its drumming ballad. She might be only fifth in line to the Northern throne, but she certainly was the Queen of Hearts. Leaning back in his chair, sipping his cup of tea, Rumplestiltskin wondered if people might remember the witch and her fondness of stealing blood-pumping organs. Would her name still spark fear or would it be lost in time, just a footnote in some sorcerer’s library or a few letters on a heraldry chart.

The tea rattled in his hand when Cora slipped from behind her dressing screen. She was dressed in a gauzy chemise that fluttered as she moved. The light of the fire outlined her figure, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He’d been seduced by Cora before, but this time, she crossed the line by parading in Belle’s likeness.

There was a split second he was fooled, for it was a dream he only allowed in the sleepless dark of night. A shameful secret never to be uttered when his seed was spent and his cock was soft again. He felt it stir as Belle—Cora, he corrected—fluttered over to him with a sultry stare.

“Like what you see?” Belle—Cora purred as she began to fiddle with the drawstring at her neckline. All she had to do was pluck it and her chemise would fold open to expose her lovely breasts. But it wasn’t Belle, not truly. “I think I’ve accomplished glamoury quite nicely, don’t you?”

“Stop it,” Rumplestiltskin ordered, averting his eyes as he slid the cup back on the tray.

“Stop what?” Cora asked, feigning innocence. “I only want to show you my work. Aren't you proud?”

He bared his teeth when he heard Belle’s voice on her tongue. It was a crime for her to appropriate Belle’s beauty and he’d punish her for it. He snapped his arm, grabbing a chuck of her hair and yanking it back hard enough to hurt. He was able to spot how Cora failed to reproduce the correct curl pattern of Belle’s luscious hair and the exact shade of pink in her pouty lips.

“You’re a cheap counterfeit,” Rumplestiltskin hissed through clenched teeth, pulling back her head as far as he could without breaking it, “to the genuine model.”

He pushed Cora away and she scattered to the floor in a heap of limbs and linen. Rejected, Cora glanced away, unknowing what to do. She’d grown unused to rejection, especially by him.

“You don’t just like her.” Cora’s words were thick with malice and resentment. “You _love_ her.” She cruelly laughed in disbelief, causing the glamoury to melt away. When she finally looked at him, all he could see was the ugly witch at his feet.

“I think our arrangement has come to an end,” Rumplestiltskin coldly replied as she rose from the chair. Cora pushed herself from the floor, holding out her hands to stop him from leaving.

“Don’t you dare leave me!” Cora screamed with unbridled rage. “I need more magic! I must have it!”

Rumplestiltskin turned around, remembering how he said the same thing to a young boy when all he wanted was his papa. He needed more magic to protect him, but that was a lie. He just need more, without seeing that all he needed sat across from him. It was the first time Rumplestiltskin pitied her, for she couldn’t see how much she had. A loyal husband who turned a blind eye to her adultery and betrayal, a daughter that would unconditionally love her, and a kingdom kneeling at her feet.

“You’ll always need more,” Rumplestiltskin told the pathetic creature.

Without another word, Rumplestiltskin vanished from Cora’s presence one last time. One day, when she outlived her usefulness, he would get rid the witch in the most delicious way. Until then, she needed to remain. The witch would be the driving force that would eventually propel Regina to seek him out.

Returning to the Dark Castle, he found the hallways dark and quiet. Opening the door to Jefferson’s room, he found him bundled up to his chin in quilts, snoring softly as his candle burned to a nub. Like any boy, Jefferson had an irrational fear of the dark. Belle had probably left the candle to soothe him to sleep. Rumplestiltskin entered, licking his fingers before snuffing the flame by pinching the wick.

As the room fell into darkness, he heard the sounds of petite footsteps in the west wing. It was forbidden! He'd told her never to step foot in his rooms, yet the little maid had disobeyed him! With a hiss, Rumplestiltskin summoned himself up to his workroom. When he materialized, he felt the yank of the iron shackles chained around his soul. He’d never felt it before, but he immediately knew what it was.

The girl had the dagger!

Rushing across the room, he pulled open a door and found Belle with the cursed blade in her hand. He’d charmed the room, made it so anyone who entered would be met with a swift death. Impervious to his magic, Belle avoided a ghastly fate when she entered the room, and found himself slightly relieved no harm had come to her even if she disobeyed his orders.

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin froze at the door, cautious as if the room was filled with explosive gas and she was striking a flint.

Belle turned around, her eyes never tearing from the serpentine blade of the dagger.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she read the blade out loud. He involuntary shivered, enjoying the way his name fell from his lips. The magic was calling him to her, to relinquish his control and power, and lay at her feet as her humble servant. “What is this?” She asked, finally lifting her eyes.

Rumplestiltskin felt the need to answer her question, but he’d spent centuries crafting loopholes with his words. “A dagger,” he answered simply.

Belle blinked as she began to twist the knife, observing how it reflected the moonlight streaming through the nearest window.

“I need you to give me the dagger,” Rumplestiltskin ordered, trying desperately to reign in his anger. The last thing he needed was for her to use it against him, unknowingly.

“Why?” Belle asked, pouting in confusion. “Why hide it? Why is this so important to you?”

“Belle—”

“Tell me,” Belle ordered, a strange realization morphing her features from curious to determined.

Gulping, Rumplestitlskin dared to step closer. If he wouldn’t give it to her, he’d take it from her—if the magic allowed it. He wasn’t sure, this had never happened before.

“It is the origin of my power,” he told her. “And it is my demise.”

“What?” Belle gasped, furring her brow in confusion.

“I keep it here,” he said, gesturing to the room that was once protected only by magic, “to guard it from those who’d wish to kill me.”

Narrowing his eyes, Rumplestiltskin sauntered towards her, reaching out to take her quivering hand. Belle’s eyes remained riveted with his as he twisted her wrist, arranging the point of the dagger straight against his breastbone.

“Sink it in my heart, wench, if you wish to take all of my infinite powers.”

Belle’s elegant fingers uncurled from the hilt and the dagger dropped from her grasp. Rumplestiltskin summoned it to away to the dark, unknown depths of the castle before it even hit the floor.

“Is that why you’re here? Come to collect my secrets to kill the beast!” Rumplestiltskin roared, storming towards her with unbridled rage.

Belle flinched as she stepped back, her hem curling under her heel and causing her to slip. He reached out, grabbing her by the edge of her bodice before she could fall. Her robe accidentally ripped from the fastenings of her embroidered stomacher and revealed sight of her reed stays underneath. Gripping her bicep, he dragged her from his room and down the dilapidated halls of the west wing. Blinded by fury, he ignored her cries and pulled her harder when her feet refused to follow his pace.

Jefferson was stirred from his slumber by the commotion. Squinting his eyes in the darkness, the boy rushed out of his room and nearly dropped the candle when he saw Belle being dragged down the hallway.

“Let her go!” Jefferson yelled.

Rumplestiltskin had no patience for the little miscreant and was about to push him back into his room when Belle reached from his tight hold to usher Jefferson back into his room.

“Jefferson, go back to sleep,” Belle pleaded.

When Jefferson spotted her ripped bodice, he raised his shoulder’s back and lifted his chin. “I won’t let him hurt you!” His voice squeaked, the sign his childhood was coming to an end.

“Her knight in shining armor, are you?” Rumplestiltskin crooned, bearing his black teeth at him to frighten him. “Than you shall meet a knight’s death!”

“Stop it, you ridiculous fool!” Belle cried, trying to shield Jefferson from him. 

Jefferson planted his feet aside, ready to ram into his side like a bull. Rumplestiltskin liked to see him try before he summoned him to the dungeons.

“Now, do as I say and go to your room.” Belle pleaded, pointing back to his doorway. 

When Jefferson reluctantly retreated into his room, Rumplestiltskin yanked her down the spiral staircase and into the Great Hall. Belle cried when he strengthened his grip, painfully fingering tendons and bone. Hurling her into the nearest chair, he ignored her sniveling cries and the sight of her holding her bodice closed with her hand.

Rumplestiltskin began to pace, his boots clicking loudly on the hardwood floor as he contemplated his options. If only he could erase her memory, it would save the all the time he’d waste disposing her body. Could he though? Could he kill her? The girl who bake him meat pies and told him tales about the World Without Magic? This was turning out to be quite the conundrum.  

“What are you going to do with me?” Belle finally asked, sniffled back her tears.

“Well, can’t have you walking around with all my secrets, can I?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

Belle swallowed, growing pale when she understood his meaning. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Rumplestiltskin waggled his finger at her. “That’s not a promise you can keep.”

“Why not?” Belle asked, twisting her face in anger. “Because I don’t have magic to tie my tongue or that you have such little faith in me?”

Rumplestiltskin jerked back his finger as if she tried to bite it. Defiant, she rose from the chair, and to his surprise, he did not push her back down. She dropped her hand to her side, unashamed of her torn bodice. He grimaced as he saw what he'd done to her clothes, like some horrible brute of a husband. 

“You could have killed me upstairs,” Belle said, her voice slightly quivering.

There was still a healthy dose of fear in her, but it was her confidence of her survival that irked him. Before, her resistance to magic was a curious conundrum, an enjoyable hobby to amuse him while he waited Regina to age. Standing there, unable to weather the disaster without magic was an utter catastrophe. He should have foreseen this when he brought the girl home, that she was going to be more effort than she was worth.

“But you didn’t,” Belle continued, adamant that she was going to survive to see morning.

 _Tricky, tricky_ , Rumplestiltskin thought after he realized she was right. He could have simply pushed her out that window, just like Cora would have done if he never saved her from her sadistic games. But he didn’t. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t end her life as soon as she dropped the dagger, but the question of _why_ he hadn’t. It was the pies, he conceded. Not because she stirred succulent fantasies in his mind whenever he caught a peek of her ankles when her hem accidentally rose. Not because of his stirring cock when his eyes danced over her ample breasts squished by the stiff bones of her stays. And definitely not because of the warmth he felt in his limbs when she said something awfully clever in her soft, sweet voice of hers.

“You’re going to just have to trust me,” Belle insisted with a firm voice.

Rumplestiltskin wrinkled his nose. What a foul notion. “Trust you?”

“Are you incapable of such a thing?” Belle questioned, slapping her hands to sides in frustration. “For once in your life, you’re going to have not rely on magic to solve your problems and just trust me.”

“Why would I trust you?” He spat out the world like it was a dirty thing.

“Because I’m your friend.”

Friend? The word was oddly spoken on her tongue. He waited, wondering if she might reclaim it and explain away her blunder, but she didn’t. She stood tall, letting the declaration marinate inside of his dark and twisted mind. Somewhere, during their winter together, she’d began to consider him a friend rather than her master.

Belle winced in pain, suddenly doubting herself when his silence grew too long. “Are you really going to kill me?” She questioned, her voice cracking as tears slid down her cheeks. “If you are, just promise me you won’t turn Jefferson out. He’s just a boy, he had nothing to do with this. The end of winter is always the worst, he'll certainly starve.”

Even in her final moments, her thoughts were entirely of the boy.

Suddenly, he felt a burdensome weight in his hands before reliving a powerful blow to his leg. The sickening sound of tearing muscle and cracking bones echoed in his ears as an excruciating pain shot up his thigh from his knee. There was nothing but thoughts of the child growing in his wife’s womb in his mind. No war, no victory, no riches. Just a swaddle of a babe in their homespun wools. His son that he could no abandon, like his father abandoned him.

“Rumplestiltskin?” Belle’s voice broke through his haunting.

Ever since her arrival, the memories of his mortal life grew more vivid and real by the day. With a heavy sigh, he realized wasn’t truly about her pies anymore. To snuff out her life, he’d be killing apart of himself.

“Go to your room,” he said, tired and defeated as he walked to his spinning wheel. As he lowered into the stool, he listened as her feet shuffled towards the exit and up the stairs.

With a guiding hand, he pushed the wheel in motion and focused on the moving spokes until they’re only a blur. A part of him knew that what he was doing was incredible foolish, but he had a fool’s heart-whatever was left of it. Without magic, he’d have to trust that she’d not betray him. It was a challenge Rumplestiltskin doubted he could ever accomplish.

____________________________________________

 

One thing he did accomplish was avoiding the wench and her boy-thief around his castle. The laughter and melodies in the castle was gone, replaced with the sounds of her heels clacking along the floor as she worked. Lessons by the fireplace were just a memory as the Great Hall silent and empty, the only sounds was the crackling of burning wood and the click of his spinning wheel.

Crafting his gold, he became unsettled by the loneliness he felt without Belle's presence. She remained in his castle, but it wasn’t enough. Rumplestiltskin needed her by his side, whispering stories about worlds unknown as she mended his linens while he spun his wheel. Cora was right; he didn’t just care for his little maid. He loved her. Loved her like no woman he’d ever loved before. The realization was like reliving the sledgehammer to his knee once more and wished he could just erase his own mind with potions and spells. He should have, but it would be a crime to erase such a precious memory from his mind.

Pained by heartache, Rumplestiltskin ceased his spinning to lean over his wheel. When he heard footsteps, he snapped his head over his shoulder, hopeful to see his maid standing at the doorway. He'd apologize, grovel at her feet and say what a fool he'd been. For once in his life, he wouldn't be a coward. He'd confess his love, without fear, and hope that it was requited. Then, all would be well and as it was. The three of them would be together, and one day, it would be the four of them.

Rumplestiltskin frowned, his heart dropping to the floor when he spotted Jefferson at the door.

“What now?” Rumplestiltskin gruffly questioned, returning his attention to his spinning.

“It’s Belle!” Jefferson exclaimed.

“What about her?” Rumplestiltskin asked, wondering why the boy was so dramatic.

“She’s gone!” Jefferson yelled, stopping his feet to make him heed his call. “I can’t find her anywhere!”

Rumplestiltskin finally turned from his wheel, rising from his stool with a look of confusion on his face. “Gone?”

Jefferson reverently nodded before spinning on his heel to sprint towards the kitchens. Rumplestiltskin immediately followed, his boots slipping on the polished floor as he hurled himself around the door. He leaped into the kitchen, finding it empty with a stench of burnt food and the kitchen door wide open.

Rumplestiltskin pressed his lips together, slightly relieved, yet strangely insulted by her vanishing. Maybe she had enough of playing maid to a grumbling, cruel wizard. Maybe, she'd been a trick, a spy sent by Cora to find out the origins of his powers. He'd been such a fool! For who could ever love a beast like him?

“She left, boy,” Rumplestiltskin told him, pointing to the open door. “She fooled us both and gained our trust. When she found what she wanted, she left.”

When he glanced down at Jefferson, all he saw was a neglected toddler pushing around a ball and an empty hearth.

“She wouldn’t do that!” Jefferson argued, stirring him from his memory. “She wouldn’t leave me.”

“They always leave,” Rumplestiltskin hissed between his clenched teeth. He pointed his finger at him, the first lesson he’d ever teach the boy. “The quicker you learn that, the better.”

Jefferson stopped his foot, tired of Rumplestiltskin’s cruel tongue.

“Belle promised she’d never leave me. She promised,” the boy furiously declared. “And she never breaks a promise!”

Stopping over to the hearth, he pulled a pie from the ashes of the dying fire. With a poker, he swiftly lifted the lid to show Rumplestiltskin the blackened, cracked crust. _His_ meat pie. Despite the blackened crust, he eyed the skillfully turned edging and decorative toppings. It was made with love and dedication. Belle wouldn’t have made such a beautiful pie to allow it turn to charcoal. 

With a deep breath through his nose, he hinted the residue of opium and musk under the odor of burnt pastry. He snarled, showing his rotted teeth as his eyes narrow at the open door.

“Cora.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when my woobie!Rumple realizes he's in love, Cora happens! Thanks again for all the awesome reviews!
> 
> I talk about Belle's stays in my tumblr: <http://morganfir.tumblr.com/>


	5. A Deep and Heavy Sorrow

Jefferson was running after him, heavily breathing through his mouth and sniffling his cries. He’d spent too much time in Belle’s skirts and being coddled by her motherly kindness. 

“Let me come!” Jefferson pouted, stomping his feet as he followed him.

“Absolutely not,” Rumplestiltskin ordered, unwavering in his decision.

“I can help! I’m not afraid of witches or black magic!”

Rumplestiltskin stopped midstride and allowed the boy catch up with him. He bent at the waist, but not as much as he used to when Jefferson first arrived. Only a few weeks of nourishing food and the boy sprouted like a beanstalk. He could not take credit for his thriving, that was all of Belle’s doing.

Placing his hands on his shoulders, he looked into the boy's tenacious eyes. “Baelfire, you can’t go. You’re far too young.”

His eyes knitted together in confusion. “Who’s Baelfire?”

Rumplestiltskin drew his hands from Jefferson’s shoulders, trembling at his sides as he stared down in horror. He’d not spoken his son’s name in nearly three hundred years.

“Jefferson,” he corrected with a strained voice, realizing it was the first time he’d even spoken the boy-thief’s name. “You must do an important duty for me.” Jefferson opened his mouth to interrupt, but Rumplestiltskin held up his hand to silence him and continued, “I’m entrusting my castle into your care and you shall be the master until I return.”

Jefferson lifted his chin, proud and determined. “With Belle.”

“With Belle,” he swore.

“Then, I shall do my duty.”

“Good boy,” Rumplestiltskin praised.

He thought of Jefferson before he left, not for Belle’s sake, but for his own. He doubted that Cora would draw him out just to seize his castle and abscond with his ward, but wouldn’t take any chances, not with the spiteful witch. Enchanting the castle, he was assured Jefferson would remain safe. Another boy would not be harmed because of this cursed existence he endured.

Cora would not kill Belle, not so soon. Rumplestiltskin relied the knowledge that she’d make a plaything out of his maid. While the image of her in Cora’s dungeons sickened him, it assured him that Belle still drew breath. The only thing that terrified him was the dark secret she might share under duress. Those thoughts propelled him to seek her out, immediately traveling to Cora’s dungeons to rescue her. Had she thought herself powerful enough to challenge him? Or was this her vengeance for rejecting her? Either way, the witch would die.

Transporting himself to Cora’s dungeons, he smelled the horrible stench of feces, rotting flesh, and misery in the air. How his poor maid suffered! Without his magic, he became a steely inquisitor, peering through iron bars and searching for her likeness in the sea of heartless creatures.

Coming to the end of the hall, he was beginning to think of other places his maid could be until he came to the last door. Peering through the iron bars, he saw Belle huddled in the corner, curled in a tight ball to keep warm. She looked so small, so helpless! How his heart broke to see her in such distress! No lock, not even one enchanted by black magic could keep them apart. In a moment, he was in her cell, drawing her from the floor. He expected her to cry for joy, hug him and praise his devotion to her. Instead, her eyes remained linked to the floor, unseeing and unsurprised by his arrival.

“Belle, I’m here,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, grasping her chin with his fingers. She saw right through him as if he was not there. His breath stilled, wondering if the witch had successfully found a way to steal her heart, but realized the maid was only in shock. A hot bath, a warm bed, and a hearty soup would set her to rights and all would be as it was. At least, he hoped it would.

“You’re safe,” he hushed, catching her stunned stare with his own.

Her jaw dropped as she finally recognized him. She began shaking her head back and forth, looking like a terrified rabbit stuck in a cage.

“She wanted to know. About y-your powers. I d-didn’t say anything. I swear,” she stuttered, and he was sure that her jaw wasn’t chattering from the cold. Her voice was hoarse and barely audible over the roaring flame in the dungeon’s braziers.

Something was wrong.

“Are you sure?” He found himself asking. He knew Belle would never foolishly utter the cursed dagger like courtly gossip, but pain is a powerful motivator, and he doubted if his little maid could endure Cora’s sadistic torture.

Gulping, Belle raised her arm from the folds of her skirt. His eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as he spotted that she no longer possessed a hand.

“She cut it off,” she spoke, her eyes drifting down to stare at it as if it was a fairy upon her arm. “Then she fed it to her hounds and made me watch.” She swallowed, causing her lips to crack and bleed. She glanced up, her soul no longer present in her beautiful blue eyes. “I still didn’t say a word, I p-promise.”

And she always kept a promise, Jefferson declared.

Nothing compared to the shame and humiliation Rumplestiltskin felt when he saw Belle cradling her handless arm. The thing that knelt at the angel’s feet wasn’t a demon, or the Dark One, or a man at all. He was Spindleshanks. A blight upon the earth. He was nothing. It had to be so, for how could he ever doubt her word?

“I’m taking you home,” he swiftly announced.

“Home?” Belle asked, hopeful.

“Yes,” Rumplestilskin answered as he curled one arm under knees while carefully bracing the other under her shoulder blades. “Home,” he repeated as he plucked her from the soiled dungeon floor.

Belle made a pillow out of his shoulder as he rose from the ground. When she cradled her injured arm close to her chest, Rumplestiltskin was able to closely examined the injury. Belle bravely bandaged her own arm, using the ties of her apron as a tourniquet and the yard of muslin as a bandage. Thick with clotting blood and grim, he would have never known that the apron was once pristine white.

The castle was eerily quiet and empty, the guards surely they knew if they crossed his path they would parish in the most painful way. He didn't care if they were innocent onlookers or the few that held Belle still as Cora sawed off her hand. If he crossed one on his path, they would surely die to pay for their guilty associations with their heartless mistress.

When Rumplestiltskin reached the outer gates, his horseless carriage was waiting for him. The carriage was real, but it was magic that propelled the wheels and was unaffected by Belle's strange ability. Slowly, and with tender care, Rumplestiltskin deposited Belle in the seat cushion. Turning to close the carriage door, he spotted Cora leaning from the turret window with a smug smile on her face. Pursing his lips, he slammed the carriage door and summoned the wheels to turn. He’d deal with the witch later, for his mind was now utterly devoted to Belle.

Rumplestiltskin was the greatest sorcerer in the land, but he was no physician. When he made deals with wounded soldiers or sickly Queens, all he had to do was wave his hand and their health was restored. He knew nothing about lost limbs, festers, and fevers. They travelled as fast as his magic coach could carry them, but he grew terrified when a horrible stench began to fill the carriage and Belle began to shake with cold sweats.

He kept her asleep, slipping opium into her mouth when she stirred. He would not see her in pain even if it meant keeping her in strange dreamland of twilight slumber.

 

____________________________________________

They reached the castle when the sun was rising above the frosty treetops. Jefferson came charging from the main gate, distressed with worry as he spotted her sleeping body cradled in Rumplestiltskin arms.

“Belle!” Jefferson cried as he rose to his toes to spot Belle’s sleeping face buried in Rumplestiltskin’s neck.

“You did very good Jefferson,” he acclaimed, noting that his castle was not a pile of cinder and ash and all of the boy's fingers and toes remained. “Now, you must help me care for Belle.”

Jefferson led the way as Rumplestiltskin rushed her to her chambers. Softly, he situated her on her bed, and began to cut her sullied dress from her body. He knew little about medicine and science, but he knew the virtues of cleanliness. Rumplestiltskin left her in her chemise, which was only yellowed by sweat. Pulling the bedding to cover her body, he hoped that the warmth and softness would comfort her through her delirium. All that was left was the soiled bandage wrapped around her severed arm. It bled, still, and he could smell something festering beneath the wrappings.

“She’s going to die, isn’t she?” Jefferson asked, already accepting of the fact. The boy might have seen death too often, but Rumplestiltskin would not allow it to claim any soul under his roof.

“She will not die,” Rumplestiltskin said, swallowing down his doubts as turned from her side.

With a gesture of his hands, a box appeared in his hand. Jefferson watched with attentive eyes as he unlocked and peeled back the lid. Reaching inside, he pulled out a beaver lined top hat. It was worn at the edges and had a ripped, threadbare lining. He held it by the brim, displaying it for Jefferson’s amazed eyes.

“This is a very special hat, Jefferson,” he announced with none of the splendor he used when speaking of magic to mortals. His voice was dry, accurate, and quiet enough not to stir Belle from her troubled sleep. “Belle was right when she said there were other worlds. Worlds like our own. Worlds very much different. And this,” he said as he flipped it to show him the interior, “is the Portal of Doors. A way to travel between worlds.”

“Why are you showing this to me?” Jefferson asked, and he had the right to be curious. Rumplestiltskin never cared for his endless questions about magic or tolerated him playing with his things.

“I need you to go through this portal, Jefferson,” Rumplestiltskin said, his eyes tearing from the hat to stare at the boy. “Open the door to the World Without Color and seek out a physician named Abraham Van Helsing. He is a young man, but doctor with the knowledge to save Belle.”

For a moment, he wondered if Jefferson was too young. However, Rumplestitlskin trusted no one else with this mission than Belle’s most devoted friend. He would not fail her.

“I would go myself, Jefferson, but I must stay to help Belle,” he told him. “Our Belle,” he corrected, realizing that if anyone cared more for Belle, it would be the boy-thief beside him. “You proved yourself to be a man today. So, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you could accomplish it.”

Without hesitation, Jefferson clutched the brim in his hands. “I will go,” he said with unwavering bravely to rival any royal knight.

“You _are_ her knight in shining armor,” Rumplestiltskin said with a sad certainty. The boy had outshined him in practically everything.

Rumplestiltskin proceeded to tell Jefferson how to use the magical contraption to travel between worlds and where he could find this Doctor Van Helsing. When he was finished, he softly placed the hat on the floor before he paused, his hands drumming on the brim with apprehension.

“Uh, we don’t tell Belle of this when she wakes,” he said, fearful of the wrath his maid would have if she knew that he’d set the boy into another world without a guardian.

Jefferson dutifully agreed with a nod. It would be their little secret.

With a spin of the brim, the hat morphed into a magnificent portal. He froze, feeling the air whorl around the room like a great typhoon. Jefferson pinched his nose before he leapt, as if he was jumping off the pier into a warm lake. A sharp pain stabbed him in his side. He’d seen another child fall into a magical portal, alone. 

This was different, he told himself as he returned to Belle’s side. Jefferson wasn’t Baelfire. He _would_ return and bring with him the only hope to save Belle.

 

____________________________________________

 

Rumplestiltskin’s leg bounced as he impatiently waited at Belle’s bedside for Jefferson’s return. Fetching a soft sponge and a bowl of warm water, he began to nurse Belle’s sweaty brow. She tossed and turned, lost in a fever dream, muttering nonsense under her breath. He hoped she wasn’t plagued by the horrors she’d seen in this mortal realm and dreamt of only pure, kind things.

“Rumple,” she muttered from her moistened lips. He turned to her bedside, pulling out another tincture of opium from his box of medicinal potions.

“I’m here,” he said in a comforting whisper before he placed the vial to her lips. “Drink.”

She weakly batted his hand away with her right, forgetting that her arm lacked a hand. A cry escaped her lips when the pain made her remember. With effort, she forced her heavy eyes open. Her stare was hazy, drunk by opium and fever.

“I must speak to you,” Belle said in a hush whisper. “Promise me that you’ll take care of Jefferson.” She paused, pressing her moist lips together. “He looks up to you, and I think…I think you love him, even if you do not admit it.”

Rumplestiltskin had no use for her words, not because they were false, but because there were words spoken from the deathbed. He refused to allow her bedchamber to transform into a mausoleum.

“This is…unnecessary,” Rumplestiltskin stiffly replied, realizing that his nose was itching and there was a strange pain around his eyes.

“I’m dying,” Belle said simply, as if she was saying the sky was blue. “I can feel it,” she said with an exhausted sigh. “Moving inside of me. Death,” she hissed.

Rumplestiltskin pulled back his shoulders, wrinkling his nose to rid himself from the horrid sensation plaguing his sinuses.

“You will not die. I forbid it.”

He watched a small smile grow on her lips. “Even the Dark One does not have power of the Grim Reaper, you said it yourself.”

Sniffling, Rumplestiltskin felt something blocking the nasal pathway. “Well, I changed my mind,” he said, offhandedly.

Belle sighed, a failed laugh, and he hoped that it would not be her last. She deserved many years of joyous laughter at her hearth, with Jefferson, and…with him. Closing his eyes, he felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes. That was the origin of this uncomfortable sensation he was enduring, he was crying! He felt it, a tiny drop fall from his eye and slide down the corner of his cheek. Before he could rid himself of the evidence of such an emotion, he felt the pad of her thumb whisk it away.

His eyes shot open, wide and shocked, as Belle’s only hand slipped from his face. Only a second later, he grew mournful for her tender touch.

“Belle.” His voice cracked as he sniffled.

“Rumple…” she whispered.

Leaning forward, he snatched her hand, grasping it as if it was the tether keeping her soul linked to her body. “If you die, I'll be very cross with you. For who would make me my pies?”

When Belle smiled and he fooled himself into thinking that she was healing, but her eyes drifted over his shoulder. Glancing behind him, he saw nothing but an empty room.

“Papa…” she whispered. He turned around and saw that her eyes had glazed over and a sheen of sweat covered her brow. “Rumple…my papa is here.”

He held her hand tighter, hoping that she was only delirious and that the Grim Reaper hadn’t appeared in the likeness of her father.

“Belle,” he prayed aloud to the empty room. “You cannot leave me.”

A crack of thunder boomed in his ear. Snapping around, he saw the storm of purple smoke and lightning as the curtains began to billow and trinkets fell off their shelves.

An man stood beside Jefferson with a leather briefcase in hand. He wore a brown waistcoat with tails, a heavy wool vest made out a cream colored wool and trimmed in gold buttons, and short kidskin breeches paired with white stockings and black heeled shoes. It was Van Helsing, he was sure of it! Rumplestiltskin could kiss Jefferson, the wonderful boy-thief realm-hopper!

“Where is the patient?” Van Helsing asked with a thick accent before he fixed his eyes upon Belle's unconscious body. "An amputation!" 

Rushing over to her bedside, he nearly pushed Rumplestiltskin aside to come to her aid. Examining her closely, he began to poke and prod her with unscrupulous attention. He picked up her arm, a bit too roughly for Rumplestiltskin’s taste, and frowned when he saw the spoiled bandage.

“She is septic,” he concluded. He plopped his black suitcase onto the bed and began noisily shuffling through the deep interior.

Laboring with extreme concentration, he carefully snipped the bandage away with tiny scissors. Rumplestiltskin immediately shielded Jefferson’s eyes from peering at the gruesome mess of torn flesh, tangles of tendons, and serrated bone. He might have hopped between worlds, but there was some things the boy did not need to see, especially of his beloved mistress.

“How did you amputate it? With a butter knife?” He asked with disgust, lifting Belle’s hand in the air as he assessed the damage in the morning light streaming through her bedroom windows.

“An injury sustained in torture,” Rumplestiltskin coldly replied as Jefferson tried to wiggle from his paternal censorship. “You will save her.” Rumplestiltskin commanded.

“I’ll try,” Van Helsing replied, not realizing that the man beside him could kill with a snap of his fingers.

Before Rumplestiltskin could open his mouth to snap a cruel threat, Jefferson peeled himself from his master's grip. “You’ll save her or I’ll never bring you back," the boy hissed, menacingly.

Pursing his lips together, Rumplestiltskin watched with slight pride as Jefferson’s words befuddled the doctor. Belle was right, the boy did look up to him. With a pat of approval on his shoulder, he gestured Jefferson to leave the room and let the doctor treat Belle with otherworldly medicine rather leaving it to the fates. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson makes his first jump! At first, I wrote in Dr. Frankenstein, but the timeline didn't match since his Regina's contemporary so I changed him to a youngish Dr. Van Helsing. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks! The last chapter will be posted later this week.
> 
> Find me at: <http://morganfir.tumblr.com/>


	6. A Beating Heart

When the tea finally steeped, Cora entered the room draped in her robe gown. It had been a gift he bestowed upon her when he was once foolishly amiable towards her. He had chosen well for her, red was her color, but he now preferred golden yellow and cornflower blue on brunettes.

Cora stopped at the doorway, eyeing him hesitantly as he tipped the kettle.

“Attempting to poison me?” She asked before she sauntered towards her vanity. Unafraid, she picked up her brush and focused on detangling her wet hair, watching him through her mirror.

“You should know I have more savory weapons up my sleeve.”

He left out the sugar from his cup of black tea when he remembered his distaste for it. However, he found he enjoyed a slice of lemon in his bitter brews. Plucking a spoon from the service, he frowned when he saw that it slightly tarnished. He proceeded to polish it with a linen napkin.

Cora raised her eyebrow at his labor. “Polishing silver like a servant,” she scoffed, tilting her nose in the air.

“I’ve rediscovered the pleasure of trivial tasks,” he shared as he pulled the spoon from the folds of the linen napkin. “And their sweet rewards,” he said when he found the spoon dazzling under the candlelight.

Cora abandoned her brush and rose from her vanity. “I know you won’t kill me,” she said with absolute certainty.

The porcelain rattling as he stirred his cup of tea. “And why is that?” He inquired before he lifted the spoon to his lips to taste his brew. It needed another lemon.

“Because you need me,” she confidently replied before taking a few steps towards him, the silk of her dressing gown sighing as she moved. “I don’t know what for, but I know it has to do with Regina. You’ve wanted her from the beginning. Why else would you be teaching me even after I voided our deal?”

“Taught,” he corrected, slipping the spoon from his lips and wagging it at her. “Past tense.”

Rumplestiltskin turned from her, not caring to look at the woman draped in his gifts. Instead, he deposited his neglected teacup onto the service and slipped into his chair beside the fireside. The chair didn’t hold the same welcome it once did.

“What makes you think I’m going to let you get away with that little tantrum of yours?” He asked, unblinking as he stared into the dry heat of the flames.

Cora saddled up to his side, slipping into his lap like she once did when they were lovers. She began fiddling with the lapel of his leather jacket, hoping her firm bottom on his soft cock would sway him. It would not. She filled his vision, the Miller’s daughter staring down at him with mirth dancing in her eyes. He didn’t flinch when she forced her lips upon his. She overly tried with her rushed kiss, desperate to make him love her again. Rumplestiltskin didn’t push her away, giving her a false complacency like a lone wolf leading a poor mutt back to its ravenous pack.

Rumplestiltskin pulled back, licking his lips, tasting nothing but bitterness and spite.

“Belle told me a story,” he began as he reached up, twisting a wet strand of her hair around his finger. “A history. Her father was a scholar from a great land. I wouldn’t dare admit this months ago, but she’s far smarter than any creature I’ve ever met.”

Cora lowered her head, her fingers dancing circles on his neck. “Smart enough to find a way to break a deal with the Dark One?” She purred.

Rumplestiltskin ignored her question. “She told me about a famous king called Hammurabi of Babylon,” he laughed, enjoying how the word rolled off of his lips as he caressed Cora’s soft cheek with his knuckles. “He was a fearsome ruler, harsh and unrelenting, as most great kings are. He placed a great stele, engraved with the list of punishments for crimes, in a middle of a town square for all his peoples to see and fear. The Code of Hammurabi,” he paused, slipping his finger from the bound spiral. It dropped, flat and bodiless.

“It said,” he continued, “if a man destroy the eye of another man, they shall destroy his eye. If one break a man's bone, they shall break his bone.”

Before Cora could blink, Rumplestiltskin yanked her hand from his neck. The tea service angrily rattled as he pinned her hand by the wrist onto the table. He immediately snuffed any magic bursting from Cora’s fingers. She might be a powerful witch, but he was the Dark One. Not only that, a Dark One in love, which was a formidable combination.

“The king believed the punishment should be equal to the crime.”

Cora cried out as he gripped her wrist tighter, tendons twisting and bones cracking under his grip.

“Belle was trying to frighten my ward from stealing. See, the lad has quite the sticky fingers, always nicking some shiny trinket at the market. She probably didn’t know she’d inspired me with her lesson. But, she tends to does that a lot. Inspire me.”

“You need me,” Cora said through her clenched teeth.

He tilted his head side to side. “Maybe,” he conceded before he bared his teeth in a dazzling smile. “But not with two hands,” he stated before he erupted into titling laughter.

“You wouldn’t,” she grunted, but she failed to suppress the involuntary shiver shooting down her spine.

Raising his hand, a sharpened cleaver appeared in his grip. “Really? The knife in my hand says otherwise.”

“What would your precious Belle say when she discovers what you’ve done?” Cora questioned. She eyed the knife with apprehension, still disbelieving that he’d actually follow through with his threats. “That you’re exactly like me.”

He shrugged, apathetic to the concerns she voiced. “Well, what Belle doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

The blood ran out of Cora’s face. She might not have a heart to feel love, but she seemed perfectly adept to stomaching terror. She squirmed, letting out a cry as she tried unsuccessfully to slip her delicate hand from his strong grasp.

“I know you, Rumplestiltskin,” she said, brazenly naming him. “You’re a coward. You hide behind your magic and your deals because you’re too weak without it. You’re no man. You don’t have the balls to do it.”

Glancing up, he spun the cleaver in his hands, admiring the way the light flickered off the gleaming metal.

“Like I said,” he said, slightly entranced by the blade. “I’ve rediscovered the pleasure of trivial tasks,” he repeated before he brought down the clever upon Cora’s regal hand.

Relying on Cora’s knowledge of magic, Rumplestiltskin left her in the puddle of her own blood while her hand danced on the table, free from its cruel mistress. That was a problem with not having a heart, the ability for limbs survive independently long after their unnatural separation. Cora would heal herself, but she’d never be able to reunite her limb with her hand.

“I leave this here,” he said wistfully as he caressed the hilt of the cleaver that was still embedded in the grain of her tea service. “As a souvenir of our last tryst together,” he said over her blood-curdling screams of terror and agony. He listened to them like a sweet song played by a courtly bard.

Without another word, he summoned himself to the Dark Castle, forever done with the witch. Her true punishment would be that her end should come from a stab in the back from her sweet Queenly daughter. Well, not a stab as much as a push.

Appearing in his workroom, he gathered a hatbox and snatched up a small wooden box from his shelf. Skipping through the castle, he hummed a merry jig under his breath. What a wonderful day!

He found Belle reclining underneath the warm spring sun in the rose garden. Jefferson was sitting next to her, his lips stained from the bowl of blueberries they were feasting on. He smiled when spotted Belle sporting his latest gift he’d given her, a robe of fine blue silk trimmed with pale pink bows. She rested her healing limb on the arm of the chair while she popped blueberries into her mouth with the other.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he approached the jovial pair. He beamed with joy, spring had brought color back to both their faces. Nothing was a sweeter vision than his two favorite people, healthy and home.

“There you are!” Belle sung, chewing with her mouth open. “Jefferson found a blueberry patch!” She announced with delight, showing him the wooden bowl filled to the brim with tiny, glistening berries.

“Ah!” He observed as he came to stand at her side.

Jefferson’s eyes knitted when he recognized the hatbox under his arm.

“I have a gift for you, Jefferson,” he announced, holding out the Portal to the Doors in his hands for him to take.

Jefferson’s eyes lit up as he sprung from his seat and reached out to receive it. “Really?” He questioned in disbelief as he studied the magical hat.

“A reward for your bravery and devotion to your mistress,” Rumplestiltskin announced, letting the hat slip from his possession.

Jefferson took the hat out of the box, spinning it by the brim before he flipped it onto his head, posing in an exaggerated gesture. The hat was too large, sinking to sit at his eyebrows.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Belle said, her voice concerned. “He’s only a boy. Should he have such a thing?”

“Tush,” he scoffed, dismissing her motherly concern with a wave of his hand. Jefferson’s voice had dropped and was quickly gaining muscle in his shoulders and arms. He was no longer a boy, so it was time for him to find a trade. What better than the man with a magical hat?

“You can’t coddle the boy forever, Belle.”

“It’s dangerous,” she argued, unwaveringly.

Jefferson was wearing the hat as if it was the most precious gift he’d ever receive. There was no future Rumplestiltskin could foresee where he’d snatch it back from him. The hat sang, a silent tune for only Rumplestiltskin’s discerning ears, and spoke of its joys of being in its new master’s possession. Jefferson was destined to have that hat, he was certain of it.

“Ah, it’s just a some harmless magic,” he reasoned with an indifferent from.

“Yeah, harmless,” Jefferson repeated as he hugged the hatbox, unwilling to part from it. “Please, Belle, please let me have it,” he whined with pouting lips.

Belle released a soft sigh. “Fine,” she relented before pointed a stern finger at him. “It is not a toy and you shall not use it without Rumplestiltskin’s permission, understand?”

Jefferson obediently nodded, the hat slipping forward to cover his eyes. “I understand.”

“Go on,” Rumplestiltskin ordered, patting his shoulder with fatherly affection before stealing his warm seat besides Belle.

Rumplestiltskin listened as the gravel crunched under Jefferson's feet as he rested the wooden box on his lap. Opening the lid, his fished out a pair of scissors, a roll of clean bandages, and a jar of medicine salve left by Van Helsing. 

Belle was the perfect patient, leaning back in her chair and surrendered her arm to Rumplestiltskin’s devoted care. Carefully, he peeled back the wrappings. The bruising was disappearing and the scabs were healing into tender, pink scars. When it was fully healed, he would commission her wooden hand so perfect no one would be able to tell the difference.

“I’ve realized that there are advantages to having one hand,” Belle told him with humor hinting her voice.

“Really? What are those?” He inquired, biting back a smile.

“I’ll never have to keep track of both my mittens,” Belle victorious announced.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. She did have an impressive gift for loosing nearly every pair he’d made for her.

“Also, I have the Dark One at my beck and call,” she added with a playful smirk.

“Some would consider that a burden,” Rumplestiltskin countered.

“Not to me,” she leaned in, a conspiring mischief dancing in her blue eyes. “But, I’m odd.”

He laughed softly as he finished coating her healing arm with the tingling salve. “That you are,” he agreed.

“I often find myself reaching out to grab things,” Belle said, turning melancholy as he stared down at her uncovered stump. “I forget that it’s gone.”

With delicate fingers, Rumplestiltskin slathered on a thick coat of the salve, paying mind to work it into her scars. Belle slid deeper into her seat and rested her head against her pillowed back of her chair.

“I feel it sometimes, like it’s still there, but a bit smaller.” Belle bitterly smiled, staring at empty space where her hand should be with longing. “Like a child’s hand.”

Swallowing his guilt, he fished for the roll of bandages from the box and began to wrap it around her stomp, tight and secure.

“A phantom feeling,” Rumplestiltskin shared, knowing he felt the same whenever she was near. As soon as she entered his life, he swore he felt his heart beating beneath his cursed flesh again.

Belle hummed in agreement. “Yes, exactly.”

When he fastened the bandage, he curled the ties under the edge because he knew how the excess fabric would pester her. Finished, he closed the box and summoned it back to his workroom. While he wasn’t relying on magic for every task, there were some habits that were hard to break.

“Thank you,” she whispered, rolling her head upon the pillow to glance at him. “For taking such good care of Jefferson and I.”

“I am unworthy of your gratitude,” Rumplestiltskin replied, the guilt crushing him like a pile of stones on his chest. “This is my fault.”

“I don’t remember you wielding the knife,” Belle said, a bit too plainly for Rumplestiltskin’s comfort. His eyes slid close and a sigh escaping from his lips when she reached out to caress his cheek with her remaining hand. “Do not think that I blame you.”

“How can you not?” Rumplestiltskin asked, imploring her to scorn him as punishment for his failings.

“Because I love you. And I know that you love me, in your own way. Or else you would have killed me when I found your dagger.”

All the joys and heartaches of his mortal life flashed before his eyes. Swallowing, he endured them, realizing he must have pain in order to have joy. He gladly welcomed the tears brimming in his eyes, relying on the knowledge that Belle would dutifully wipe them from his ugly face.

“Belle, I am so sorry,” he confessed in a desperate need for forgiveness. For months he saw her as another one of his possessions, to polish and shine, and sit pretty among his horde. There were few moments where he’d even considered her feelings, for that he was ashamed and disgusted.

“For my cruelty, for everything,” he added, knowing there was list of crimes he’d committed against her. “I remember things now, so clearly,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion he hadn’t felt in years. “You’ve made me feel parts of myself I thought died long ago. And now I see what a monster I’d become.”

“That was never me,” she said, letting her hand comb into his hair.

“Yes,” he contended, as he opened his eyes. “It’s is you.” Smiling through his tears, he fished her soft hand from his hair. Cradling her precious hand in his, he guided it to his lips to place a devoted kiss upon her palm. “Thank you for the happiness you’ve bestowed upon me.”

He leaned back, keeping his hands entwined with hers. Belle looked pensive and for a moment he wondered if his affections were not welcomed.

“I am not her,” she told him. “I will not be her replacement.”

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to denounce such an appalling assertion, as the thought of Cora comparing to Belle truly disgusted him, but Belle silenced him with a stony look. “You gave me her room. You gifted me silks fine enough for a Princess. Do not think I don’t know that you once loved her.”

The truth of her words was an arrow piercing through his blackened heart. It was time for him to let go of the woman he once loved, if he did so cruelly and depravedly. Belle was his fresh start, a chance to reclaim the old spinner living in his heart. He will no longer compare one to the other, or use Belle’s accolades to denigrate Cora. That was an insult to both of them, and he finally saw that now.

“You are…” he began, lowering his head in guilt, “and shall always be Belle, for I love you beyond compare.”

A strange courage blossomed in his heart as he dared to raise his penitent eyes from the ground. Belle was staring at him, her eyes full of acceptance and expectant love. Cora was wrong; he wasn’t a coward, not when it came to loving Belle. She gave him inhuman strength worthy of any herculean warrior.

Rumplestiltskin leaned forward, mindful of her hand, and placed his lips upon hers. He waited for any signs of resistance, but when she sighed into his touch, he doubled his efforts with tender enthusiasm. How did he endure so long without the gift of her kisses? With every pluck of her lips, he was blessed.

“Rumple,” Belle sighed after she broke the kiss.

Opening his eyes, he watched with awe as a purple smoke curled around her stump. The sweet taste and smell of magic hung heavily between their bodies. When the smoke vanished, her hand was restored.

With panting breaths, Belle raised her hand and flexed her fingers, reacquainted herself with her returned limb.

“How?” She gasped before opening her mouth in awe.

“Love,” he said, thoughtlessly as he curled his fingers between her own. “Love is the most powerful magic of them all. Even surpassing your odd ability, my dear.”

Curious, he reached up with his free hand and found a small blemish upon her chin. With a pass of his finger, the spot disappeared. His magic could finally reach her. All because of love.

He dropped his head, chuckling with disbelief.

“What?” Belle asked, eager to know.

“It’s why you were able to possess the dagger,” he told her. He opened up her hand, the one that held the hilt of his dagger weeks ago, and traced protective runes with his fingertips. “It had been the first time love had ever touched it.”

Before Belle could utter a word, Rumplestiltskin leaned in to kiss her hard on the mouth. A groan escaped from his chest when he felt her bury _both_ of her hands into his untamed curls. 

“Belle,” he sighed, pulling back to speak. With his hand, he framed her beautiful face before he pleaded, “I’m going to take you to your bedroom, undress every stitch of fabric from your body, and make you my Dark Lady.”

Almost as urgent as he, she nodded her head and bit her lip with anticipation.

With a burst of smoke, he summoned them both to her bedchambers. Belle gasped, disoriented from their magical travel, and held his jacket to steady her wobbling feet. He welcomed it, promising always to be her unwavering knight to help and comfort her when she reached for him. When the spell of dizziness wore off, she began pull at Rumplestiltskin’s leathers. He wanted to go slow, savor the tastes and delights of his little maid, but she was restless, yanking and pulling the skin-tight garments from his svelte figure, determined and needy. His cock twitched. She was needy—for him.

He imagined a shy, bashful thing, or a maid to be seduced and coaxed into his master’s bed. Belle was none of those things. She burned like a brilliant fire, knowing exactly what she wanted and seeking it out, shamelessly.

It was easy ridding her of her robe. Underneath she wore nothing but a thick chemise and loosely laced jumps. Belle had successfully peeled off his waistcoat and yanked the tunic from his breeches as he made work of pulling the front laces of her jumps.

When the jumps fell to the floor, he captured the bow of her chemise neckline with delight.

“My love,” he sighed, slowly pulling on the cord with his fingers.

Her chest was heaving, expecting the cool air of the room to brush against her beautiful breasts. Pulling the tie loose, he sighed as he brushed the chemise off of her shoulders and let it fall to a puddle at her feet.

She stood, confident, as his eyes drifted down her naked body. She was flawless with her curved calves, a patch of thick curls between her warm thighs, a small waist from years of sporting stays, and the most delicious of them all, her supple breasts.

Raising both of his hands, he cupped her beautiful breast and played with her hardened nipples with her thumb. Belle sighed, leaning into his touch while throwing back her head in pleasure.

“I imagined doing wicked things to these breasts,” he said, kneading them in rhythmic circles. “Kiss them, suckle them,” he whispered before he leaned in and plucked the nipple with his lips. Her cries of delight shot straight down to his aching cock. He spared none of his focus as he captured her tender breast in his mouth. It far more comforting than he assumed when soft flesh filled his mouth. He enjoyed the feeling of her little pebbles against his tongue and beamed with delight when she withered from his attentions.

A string of saliva snapped between his open mouth and her nipple when he relinquished her worked breast with a soft pop. Rumplestiltskin guided her onto the bed when her legs morphed into aspic. She leaned back, looking like a goddess with her chestnut curls spread out around her, her swollen nipples glistening with his spit, and the blue of her eyes darkened by desire. If he painted, he’d craft a picture of her thus, but it would never be the real thing.

Reaching out, she caressed the ripples of his muscles, savoring the sensation of touch with sweet revelation.

“You don’t understand how much you miss something until it’s gone,” she whispered, watching as her fingers traced circles around his darkened nipples. He shivered, wondering if the delight she felt when he suckled her breast could compare to the lovely sensation caused by her seeking fingers.

Rumplestiltskin pulled her hand away from his chest, clutching it tightly as he pulled it to his wet lips for an open mouthed kiss.

“I think I loved you from the moment you hit me with that pewter plate,” he confessed shyly, with a tinge of humor, wishing he could make his confession sound more titillating. “But it wasn’t until you were gone that I realized how very much I was besotted with you.”

While Belle received desired, she earnestly welcomed sweetness. He curbed his wicked tongue and decided to speak of sweeter things to his goddess of love.

“My Dark Lady,” he said, caressing his hand up the side of her body. “Shall I become a bard, sing of your beauty and virtues?”

“Yes,” she chimed, grinning from his compliments. “A stanza at daybreak, a ballad at teatime, and a sonnet at dusk.”

He chuckled, appraising her naked form with his hungry eyes. “My words will never do you justice.”

“As the Dark Lady, I order you to,” Belle teased, raising her hand up his torso to curl around his neck.

He beamed at her honored title coming from her wanton lips.

“Then,” Rumplestiltskin said, leaning down for a soft kiss, “I shall obey your command and write it upon your body in kisses.”

With a growl, he laid down his weight between her legs and nipped at the tender neck of her skin. She giggled, twisting and turning as she enjoyed his playful affections.

Play soon transformed into longing as Rumplestiltskin reveled the soft, yielding female flesh under his own. Rumplestiltskin sighed when she spread her knees apart, rubbed her ankles around the back of his knees and rolled her hips in sweet bliss. Her experience of matters of the flesh clued him in that she was no virgin, perhaps once rolling around in some hayloft with a shepherd or farmhand, but it mattered not. In fact, he only doubled his affections without the fear of frightening her.

With magic, he conjured his pants somewhere else. Where? He didn’t know, he’d find them later when he was not between the warm thighs of his lover.

“Ah,” he sighed when their naked bodies finally met. All he could feel was heat, softness, and slick wetness. Bracing his arm on the mattress, he leaned over her, savoring her trembling body as he fumbled with his cock. His jaw dropped when she rested the flat of her feet on either side of him, spreading her cunt wide open for him. With a hiss of breath, he held his cock as arranged it at her dripping entrance.

Tilting back her head, she gripped the bedspread in her balling hands as he pushed inch by delicious inch into her. She hot, tight, slick, and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

“Yes,” Belle whispered as he slipped his cock all the way inside of her. Finally, they were merged as one. If he’d tear out his heart, he would store it beside hers, for there must be no better palace than her body.

With both hands bracing his weight, he finally rocked her hips into hers. She mewed, raising her hands to claw at his back in encouragement.

“My love,” he muttered, ramming back inside of her.

“Harder,” she urged, rocking her hips in response.

“Yes.” Rumplestiltskin shuttered from her exquisite edict. Heeding her command, he began to thrust harder, causing her head to slide of the edge of the bed. He didn’t dare move her, but relished the view of her long, elegant neck as they fucked.

She adoringly mewed with each of his thrusts and groaned when he was able to hit that tender spot inside of her. Unable to resist, he leaned down and dragged his black tongue up her pale neck. Her hands slide down his back and curled into the soft flesh of his backside, urging him to thrust harder.

“More,” she ordered, morphing from his maid to his lady.

Rumplestiltskin would not deny her the world. So, he rocked harder until his own body began to ache and his brow began to sweat. Her cries quickened as he began to grunt with each thrust. The bed shamelessly shook and creaked with their fevered efforts. He hoped Jefferson was not near to listen.

He watched her come undone, eager to grasp and scratch at every patch of his scaled flesh. Pretty Belle squirmed under his affections, as if she could not tolerate all the overwhelming pleasure he gave her, but she would have it. Her beautiful cunt clenched his cock so hard that he could not resist the tidal wave of pleasure shattering through him.

Exhausted, but not without care, he pulled her from the edge of the bed. He covered half of her body with his as he nuzzled her cheek with his nose and cupped one of her breasts with his hands. He imagined this would be how they would sleep for now on.

“Hm,” she hummed, running her restored fingers across his forearm that was draped over her chest. “That was nice.”

“Nice?” He questioned, slightly insulted. “Just nice?”

“Wonderful,” she corrected with a delectable sigh, lifting her head to pull out her hair from under her weight. “I wish to do it everyday,” she commanded, a hint of smirk on her lips as she turned to face him. Their eyes met, their noses nearly touching, as they shared the same sweet air.

“In place of your stanzas, ballads, and sonnets?” Rumplestiltskin teased with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Belle hummed in agreement. “Yes.”

“Well,” he began, raising his hand from her breast to cup her soft cheek. “That is a price I’m willing to pay.”

 

_\----- Epilogue -----_

When Mr. Gold entered his salmon-pink Queen Anne, there was a hearty aroma of a balsam and cedar filling the main floor. Leaning on his cane, he took a deep breath through his parched lips as he scanned the foyer as the last twenty-eight years of the curse rushed back to him. Limping towards the office, his knees buckled and he leaned against the doorway for support.

There, sitting behind his desk, was his wife. A pair of reading glasses balanced on the tip of nose and her silver-stranded chestnut hair was curled into an elegant bun. She was bent over a thick account book, her focus devoted entirely to tallying up the monthly rents.

“Rose.” It’s almost like a prayer. He wanted to sing his victory, but the cursed woman across from him wouldn’t understand his sudden exclamation of joy.

Belle’s—Rose’s eyes lifted from the thick tome and she smiled, full of joy and warmth. “You’re home,” she announced, closing the book shut and sliding it away. “Hard day?”

“Quite the opposite, dearie,” he said, circling the desk so he could sidle up beside her. “I had an excellent day. Yours?” 

“Tiring,” she said, her voice worn. It wasn’t a physical tiredness, but an emotional one. She pulled the glasses of her face and dropped them onto the desk. “Jefferson won’t take our money.” 

Gold sighed, settling on the edge of the desk and running his hands through his hair. Rose had been trying to reach out to her rebellious son who was terrified of disappointing his beloved mother. He could not fault her, but she needed to see that she could not fix all of his problems with her checkbook.

“He wants…he needs to provide for Grace on his own,” he told her.

“There’s no shame in letting his family help him, is there?” She argued, growing emotional over the subject. But she didn’t understand what it was like to be a young father seeking independence. It didn’t help matters that his affluent parents were known as the town’s power couple.

“He’s young, he’ll make mistakes. You can’t always fix it for him,” he kindly told her. “Jefferson will come to us if he needs help, do not doubt that.”

Rose sat in silence, contemplating his honest opinion and brewing over the heated emotions of the day.

“I suppose you had no part of Henry’s birth mother arriving into town,” she shared aloud.

He would never take for granted how quickly rumors spread like wildfire in Storybrook.

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, remembering the flaxen-haired princess glancing at him with utter suspicion. She’d require a delicate hand to be played as his pawn, but it was feasible. Mr. Gold doesn’t want to think about Emma or Madame Mayor, not when his pretty wife sat before him. Even after decades of sharing a bed, he still burned for her, and she still remained the beauty that he fell head over heels for.

“Right,” she replied with doubt. Rising from her chair, she came to wrap her arms around his torso and lean her head against his chest. He enjoyed it when she didn’t wear her ridiculous heels, how he could rest his chin upon the crown of her head as he cherished him. “You know you shall always find me your most loyal ally.”

Gold couldn’t help but to reach out and twirl the stray curl around his finger. After wrapping it in a tight coil, he let go and beamed as it held its curl. 

“I know,” he said softly before he fished for her hand and kissed her palm with all the love and gratitude he could muster.

When she lifted her eyes to look at him, he spotted how they glazed over with confusion. “What is it?” Gold asked, concerned.

Rose slipped her hand away, glanced at it as if she seen a ghost. She began to flex her fingers back and forth, then rotating her wrist in slow circles.

“I just…” she paused before she shook her head. “I thought I felt something.”

Rose raised her eyes, dismissing her feelings with a light chuckle, but Mr. Gold saw through her act immediately. It didn’t matter; there was plenty of time for her memories to seek back. Belle had agreed to it after all, if it meant that the two of them could find Baelfire.

“Come upstairs and let me write a sonnet on your body, like when we were young,” he beckoned, holding out his hands for her to take.

With a giddy smile, Rose placed both of her hands in his. He led her to their bedroom and showed her that she was the reason that his heart beat still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw! I hope you guys liked it! 
> 
> Find me at: <http://morganfir.tumblr.com/>


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